Welcome Back to Kamp!

Around this time last year I was bright faced and hopeful about what college would bring.  I was looking forward to Old Kenyon parties, meeting cute guys, and freedom.  I didn't have too many friends and the humidity made my hair poof out like this:

The hair and the lack of friends may have been linked.

Now I'm back for a second year and things are basically the same.  Except I've learned that Old Kenyon is mostly just a good place to get beer spilled on you and make out with people you didn't want to, the cute guys are all gay, and I have all the freedom I want to decide between Walmart and Kroger.  Speaking of Kroger, apparently I look like the albino who works there.  This doesn't surprise me.  I haven't met her, but if you have tell her congratulations on her wedding and that Billy thinks the price for a six-pack of Natty Light is too high.  

I thought that by my Sophomore year I would know not to bring so much random shit with me.  But this is not the case.  My broom closet single in Caples looks like an episode of Hoarders, and I think Parents' Weekend is just an excuse for my mom to come up here and stage an intervention.  It's not that I don't want to clean my room, it's just that it's a vicious circle.  I'm at the point where I can't even enter my room, I can only take a HUGE step onto my bed to sleep at night.  I'm afraid the next step is taking in all the stray cats in Gambier and learning how to knit them sweaters. 

Help.

Now I do live in Wellness so becoming a cat lady isn't too much of a jump.  I may be the only one on campus living well for all I know.  I never see my hall-mates.  Never.  Not even in the bathroom.  So I have come to this conclusion:  Either 9th floor Caples is the Twilight Zone, or no one in Wellness bathes...or needs food.  However, I know I'm not the only resident of Caples because I can usually hear the normal people having fun on the floors below me.  For the first week back here I remained pretty vague about where I lived though, and my conversations went something like this.

Random Person:  Hey!  Where are you living this year?

ME:  Oh...north.

RP:  Oh hey, me too!  Where?

ME: ...Caples.

RP:  Nice, nice.  What floor?

ME:  YouknowIhavetogofluffyneedsanewsweater...bye!

But now that I've learned that the 9th floor is 8 flights of stairs too many, I have accepted my fate as a Wellness resident and allow people in the elevator to see what button I push.  If that's not maturity, I don't know what is.